Runaway
by CaptainOfMyShip
Summary: Nine year old Harry Potter disappears after he's not allowed to keep the pet snake that says she wants to be his mother. How will two years on his own affect the way he goes about defeating Lord Voldemort? After all, the time with the snakes makes him a little more...Slytherin. Future LV/HP slash. Rating will go up.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Yes, this has an OC. No, she will not be interfering with the plot past the first couple of chapters. First and foremost, this is a Harry Potter story, but there's not much I can do if I can't make up anything on my own. So don't leave right away just because most OCs are Mary Sues. She isn't one. **_

_**Did you know that the disclaimers aren't real? That by posting on this site, I'm automatically disclaiming and you can't sue me, even if you try? So this is the space in which I'd like to say,**_

_**I own Harry Potter and I AM Doctor Suess. How do you feel about that?**_

"_You'll miss the best things if you keep your eyes shut."_

Nearly eight years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets - but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.

Yet, for all they wished he wasn't, Harry Potter was indeed, still there. At the moment, he was lying in his cupboard by the door, using the crack of light from the bottom to examine his fingers. The day before, he had worked up the courage to ask his Uncle Vernon,

"May I go to the park today?" He had hoped that maybe, since he'd asked the right way, and he'd made _extra _sure to do all his chores without being ordered to, he would be allowed to go. His Uncle Vernon looked completely shocked by the question, and for a moment, Harry dared to believe that his relatives would be pleasantly surprised that he'd been so polite and worked so hard.

Then his uncle's face had twisted, and turned red with anger.

"Absolutely not! We feed you, we allow you to stay here, and you ask for more? You're an ungrateful little brat, just like your worthless parents!" Biting his bottom lip, Harry had struggled not to cry, because it wasn't fair that Dudley got to be fed, and to stay, _and _go to the park without doing chores or begging. It wasn't _his_ fault that his parents were worthless.

"I- I'm sorry, sir. But I promise I'll be extra good, and I think if I made some friends…" What Harry thought would happen if he made some friends would never be known, since his Aunt took the opportunity to stick her overly sharp nose into the conversation.

"Friends? Who would be friends with a little freak like you?" In a very small voice, Harry answered,

"Maybe if I helped them with their homework, they'd like me. Miss Jennings said-"

"Miss Jennings is a simpering fool. She tells you these things because she wants you to feel better about yourself. They have laws that make teachers act nice, even to stupid little boys."

"If I work-"

"If you want to work, you can do the garden, here." She lowered her voice into a relatively gentler screech, and patted his arm sympathetically. "Anyways, can't you see that they wouldn't like you anyways? If you offer to do work for anyone, they'll allow you to stay as long as you're useful, and then they'll send you away again. Not everyone is as generous as we are, and taking in a little boy…like you…well, it's not something most people would do." She retracted her arm, and wiped at it a little with a pocket handkerchief, which Aunt Petunia immediately disposed of.

Harry did his own laundry, and sometimes Dudley's. She had touched her own son countless times that day, so it really didn't make sense that she'd be worried about contact with Harry. Harry squashed down the tiny surge of resentment before he could even really acknowledge it. He knew he was too skinny, and too small, and had knobby knees, and for some reason, he was a Freak, which meant that there would always be something inherently wrong with him. He really was grateful that he had a place to stay.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon. I'll go do the garden now. Thank you for letting me stay here." His Uncle Vernon was still a little pink, but his eyes were no longer bulging, and he spoke to, instead of yelled at Harry.

"Well, get on with it then, boy."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry didn't particularly like gardening. Many other boys his age enjoyed running and playing outside, but since the Privet Drive garden consisted of a two foot by one foot patch of dirt and a six foot by eight foot patch of grass, there wasn't much space to run. And anyways, it wasn't the sort of garden one played in. It was the sort of garden that birds didn't land on for fear it was astro-turf. It was neatly mowed and edged, and both the grass and measly plants that had sprung up in the garden were of the sort that had been bullied into existence, not because they wanted to grow there, but because they had been given with military precision, exactly what nutrients would force them into existence.

Despite the perfect green of the lawn, they looked sort of unhappy, in a plastic way.

All in all, the garden was nominally more interesting, but Harry liked the coolness of the cupboard. Sometimes he named the spiders, and pretended they were his friends, but of course, they'd crawl about and away just as they had before they'd been christened. There were spiders outside, too, but instead of the harmless daddy-longlegs variety that had lived inside of his closet, there were rounder ones, and shiny ones, one of which had bitten him, and sent him to the emergency room once.

Uncle Vernon had pinned the bill when it arrived to the ceiling above his bed, to remind him what a burden he was. He'd started doing chores as soon as he'd felt well, and after a few misguided days, Aunt Petunia instructed him in how to do them properly, and started requesting which chores he begin with.

By now, the requests had turned into orders.

Through two pristine fences, he could see that the neighbor's backyards to either side were equally well trimmed, and sometimes Harry had had a dream once that they all had Freaks who went over the uneven bits with scissors. It was a silly, stupid dream, said a voice in his head that sounded strangely like Aunt Petunia, but in the end, he and the other Freaks had run away and lived in a great meadow with perfectly untamed grass, and he'd woken up with tears in his eyes, for some reason. Dreams like those made him want to sleep forever.

Harry liked to look at the foot or so of grass between the end of the Dursley's fence, and the end of the Prewitt's fence behind them, in Number 4, Audrey Drive. Nobody mowed that little strip, since it was an in-between place, but sometimes Harry watered it, because it reminded him of his dream, and flowers grew there that weren't allowed to grow in gardens.

Also, sometimes he heard voices in it. He never told anyone- why give them more proof that he was a freak?- but he thought there might be fairies in the patch of grass because he occasionally heard a no-nonsense voice ordering about her children.

"Cordelia! You stop that this instant! And Caelum, if you make Aster cry, so help me, you'll have to stay holding on to me for the rest of the evening. Do try and maintain some semblance of dignity, Lilith, we are not going to make a spectacle of ourselves by behaving like- Caelum!"

It was so maternal, that Harry grew fond of the Invisible Family. When he imagined his mother, he imagined she must have sounded something like that, only he didn't know what worthless sounded like.

Sometimes he caught a glimpse of a snake in that area, but never did he see the woman, or her children. It was too bad. Harry thought that if he saw her, he might like to pretend that his mother looked something like her too, since his current mental image was somewhere between himself and Aunt Petunia…ugh.

While Harry dawdled and hoped to hear the voices again, a flower in the garden opened up, and from it, grew a single pound note which floated over and landed in his lap. Harry had never been given pocket money before, and immediately, he lost all thoughts of the Invisible Family and thought of all the knick-knacks Dudley bought that he could now buy. Immediately, he became ashamed of himself. There was his Uncle Vernon, pounding at the keys of his computer to make money to feed and clothe him, and Aunt Petunia out buying the food he would eat, and all he was thinking of was himself.

He really was ungrateful. The pound should go to them.

Aunt Petunia came home to an excited Harry, who rushed up to her and practically shouted,

"Aunt Petunia! You'll never guess what happened!"

"I'm sure I'll never care, either." She answered, and dumped the groceries in his hands to put away. Dutifully, he placed each item into its place before he ran to where she was relaxing on the couch with a magazine of the type fashionable women read. The cover featured a woman relaxing in the exact same pose on the couch of her own house. This time, Harry took a few deep breaths so he could tell her calmly about the way he had found to be less of a burden.

"Aunt Petunia. While I was gardening, a flower opened-"

"Which one?"

"A tulip."

"That makes four."

"Actually, there's seven open now. You see-"

"Ha! The Levenson's only have four."

"Yes, but Aunt Petunia, there was money inside of it." Whatever good will he'd earned with the flower, he immediately lost. Suddenly, she looked suspicious and tense. Harry blabbered obliviously on. "So I wondered how it had gotten in there, but while I was humming and thinking about it, another one opened and in that one, there was five pounds! And I realized that it only happened when I hummed, and for the last one, I sang, and there was a ten pound note, all rolled up! I was thinking I could help pay you back for having to keep me."

Aunt Petunia opened up another of the endless handkerchiefs she seemed to keep on hand for times when touching Harry became necessary and beckoned at him. He placed the notes on the handkerchief, and stepped back, biting his lip, but his eyes were shining with excitement.

"I'm not a very good singer, but I'm sure if I-" His Aunt's voice stopped him, harsh and cold.

"No."

"What?"

"You will never sing again, you will never garden again. Your outside duties will be limited to clipping the lawn and hedges. You may weed. There will be no more growing, or…freakish little tricks."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia. I didn't mean to-"

"It doesn't matter, does it?" She hissed. "You did. This is why no one wants a filthy little boy like you running about."

So there Harry lay, using the thin line of light that streamed from under the door to painstakingly check over his body and see what exactly made him a filthy little boy. He was ashamed to admit that he found a little bit of dirt beneath his fingernails from when he'd gardened the day before, but he'd always thought of dirt as a clean sort of dirty, not at all like the various foodstuffs and sodas Dudley would come home sticky with.

Still, he resolved to scrub harder.

Harry wondered what was wrong with him.

Harry was not physically abused. He might have been just on the edge of neglected, but he was certainly not being hit, and he had enough to eat, even if he wasn't good enough to eat the same food as everyone else. At some point, he assumed, they had even carried him in their arms, and fed him from his bottle, or he wouldn't have been there. So when the Meetings for Displaced Children came up at school, twice annually, Harry filled out the boxes that said _no he wasn't getting hit_, and _no he wasn't being starved_, and _no he wasn't afraid of his new family hurting him_. Because he wasn't. He didn't fear being hurt. Even at their angriest, Uncle Vernon never laid a finger on him, and Aunt Petunia only swatted in his direction. He was scared that he would never, ever be loved.

It was wrong, of course, for a Freak like him to hope for anything like that. But since he hadn't been left out on the street to starve like Freaks were supposed to be, of course he had seen how loved Dudley was and wished for that for himself. How ungrateful he was, always wanting more. Still, he could not help it.

The Dursleys did everything they could to reinforce this way of thinking. When they ate out, Harry stayed at home and had a sandwich. Dudley had toys, friends, new clothes and presents. Harry played with the spiders, wore Dudley's hand-me-downs, and was given presents which were worse than no presents at all, presents that reminded him of how little he was wanted. That he was an obligation. He had a special place in his cupboard for his last Christmas present; the hook off of an earring Aunt Petunia had broken.

It wasn't fair, and, if left to his own devices, Harry may have eventually realized that it wasn't fair, and all of the love he wasn't worthy of giving them may have turned into desperation to be acknowledged. He may have become malleable, easily bent to the power of suggestion at any hint of affection. He may have become bitter, and started to hate muggles.

But he wasn't left to his own devices.

It was then, at exactly nine years, two months, and four days, that Harry met the Invisible Family.

"Cordelia! Cordelia! Cordelia!" The voice shrieked, sounding increasingly hysterical. Harry sat by the fence and hoped that Cordelia would answer soon, because the Mum voice sounded worried. Harry decided to brave the wrath of the Dursleys and help out with the search when the Mum voice's calls dissolved into sobbing, with an occasional "Del!" mixed in.

"Ma'am? Please don't cry. I'll help you look for Cordelia." There was a sniff.

"Who is that?"

"My name is Harry."

"Well you sound like a very sweet young-" Another loud sniff. "Young man. But I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"I thought I heard you looking for one of your children. Cordelia."

"Cordelia's only just started leaving. She hasn't gotten very far. I can see her still. She just…she isn't listening. None of them ever do. They're just not smart enough to, but I went and did it again. I do get terribly lonely." Harry was a little taken aback. He'd never heard a mother who didn't firmly believe her child to be the most intelligent in any given room. Then the voice started to cry again.

"Please don't cry, ma'am. I do well in some of my classes. Maybe I could tutor your children in English and Math? Just not Science…"

"That's nice, dear, but they're really just not smart enough to learn. I'm not sure if they know their names. It's very rare to even be able to talk as long as we've been talking. If I may ask, who is your mother?"

"I'm not sure, Ma'am. My parents are dead."

"Oh, you poor dear. Well, if you'd like, you can join my family. I'm sure you'd be a delight."

"R-really?" Harry was floored. He couldn't believe that a family, a mother! could be dangled in front of him so casually.

"Well of course. If you're all on your own, I'd be happy to help take care of you, until you're ready to move out."

"All the way until then? That's a long time, Ma'am!"

"Few months. Then I'll probably have children again." In her sigh, she seemed to release the last shaky breath from her crying. Harry took a shuddery breath as well. He knew it was too good to be true!

"I'm only 9, Ma'am. I can't move out for at least eight more years."

"My god! Years? If I may ask, Harry, what exactly are you?" Could she tell he was a freak already?

"I'm a little boy."

"What kind of little boy? Are you a viper, by any chance?"

"I…I don't think so. I'm just a little boy." A snake slithered out from under the fence, and Harry was just wondering nervously if he should back away from it, when the snake opened it's mouth and spoke with the Mum voice.

"Harry?" Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone else was watching. No one was.

"Did you just talk? But that's impossible. You're a snake!"

"I am not a snake! I am a witch under a terrible curse. What's impossible is that you can talk to me. Who are you, boy?"

"Just Harry, ma'am. Harry Potter." The snake reared back in shock.

"Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?" Harry shrugged, but he felt his heart sinking. She'd heard of him! She knew he was a freak.

"I'm the only Harry Potter I know, Ma'am."

"Where are my manner's dear? My name is Polianthes Xercide Stone, of the most Noble and Ancient house of Stone." She announced, grandly. Harry seemed unimpressed, but when she drooped a little, he tried to put an expression of awe onto his face.

"Do all snakes have such long names? Polly…pollyanthe zur…I'm sorry Ma'am. Could you please repeat it?"

"Polly anth ees zur ci day stone. Polianthes Xercide Stone." Harry looked at her blankly.

"You may call me Anthe." She allowed, and Harry nodded thankfully.

"Thank you Miss Anthe."

"Just Anthe will do, Harry."

"Is it true that you're a witch? Uncle Vernon says that magic isn't real."

"Your Uncle Vernon is incorrect. Magic is very real. I am a witch. If you can do magic too, then you're a wizard." Harry ducked his head. "What's wrong?"

"Sometimes I do things that are…impossible. But I'm not a wizard. I'm a freak." The snake regarded him for a while.

"Well, you can speak to snakes. That is very rare, but it doesn't make you a freak. It makes you special." Harry looked up at her.

"Really?"

"Of course, dear! If you couldn't speak to snakes, who would know that I have been trapped in this form? Nobody! I would just keep mating once a year, and having children who don't understand my words, and leave me the moment they get old enough."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. That sounds so cruel." She sighed.

"No. It's how snakes are. Most animals, really."

"I'm still sorry."

"Well, it's alright now. I'll stay with you."

"You still want to be my mum?"

"I told you I would, didn't I? It's not like I'm doing anything worthwhile out here. And mother to The Boy Who Lived! It would be my pleasure, Harry." Harry started to get nervous. There wasn't a lot of space in the cupboard under the stairs and, well…

"I'm staying with my Aunt and Uncle. I have to ask if you can stay with me, first." Polianthes curled herself up into a spiral, and rested her head lazily on one of her coils.

"I'll wait here. Inform them that I am of the Noble and Ancient house of Stone, and have worked as a private tutor for Arithmancy, Runes, Charms, and Transfiguration. I am certain I would be able to help you with those subjects."

"I don't think they offer those classes at my school."

"They will, dear." Harry hummed so happily that the tips of the grass all started to turn to gold, as he practically skipped inside to ask his relatives for permission to have a family.

_**Since this is my very first chapter, and my first fic in the fandom, its very important that you all tell me what you think about it. Otherwise I might just decide that the fandom isn't for me, and delete this. Which is fine too, but if anyone likes it, now is the time to speak up…**_

_**Harry: Excuse me? , sir?**_

_**Me: That's DOCTOR Suess.**_

_**Harry: Erm, sorry, right. Mr. Doctor Suess, sir?**_

_**Me: Yes?**_

_**Harry: What's slash?**_

_**Me: MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!**_

_**Harry: …..?**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: I realize that my narrative style is very basic right now. I'm doing that deliberately to reflect on Harry's age and how he probably views the world. Hopefully, it's not too much of a problem, but it will be getting a little more complex later on. **_

_**Thank you for the lovely reviews! I responded to as many of them as I could before I lost internet. Feedback means the world to me.**_

"_The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself."_

_-Friedrich Nietzsche_

Harry Potter nearly skipped inside. After all, this was every orphan's dream, wasn't it? To have someone show up out of the blue and agree to love them. Imagine, his very own mum! At last, he could shed the stigma of having worthless parents and actually be someone. Too young to be self-conscious, Harry Potter whispered to himself,

"Harry James Stone" and decided he quite liked the sound of it. It sounded like the name of someone with a mother. Of course, he was not so naïve as to think that his relatives would like the idea of a talking snake, even one who could tutor worthless Harry Potter, and save them the shame of having to send him to school. By the time he'd gotten to where his Aunt Petunia reclined in her favorite uncomfortable chair- uncomfortable chairs being the fashionable places to sit- he still didn't really know how he would ask his favor.

"Aunt Petunia?" Heaving a sigh at the inconvenience of having to speak to her nephew, Petunia Dursley set down the book she'd have to finish to sound knowledgeable at the next book club meeting.

"What?"

"I was thinking, well, I'm not really allowed to have friends, and if I had something sort of like a friend, I wouldn't have to be outside so much, and none of the neighbors would see me so often. If I had a pet-"

"Filthy things, pets."

"-a pet that could take care of itself and feed itself, then it wouldn't be any bother, and I wouldn't be any bother, and-"

"Spit it out, boy."

"Can I please keep a snake I found outside? You'll never see it, I promise."

"Of course not." Feeling the matter had been handled, Petunia congratulated herself on having taken care of the issue and returned to her book.

Harry's large green eyes turned huge and started to fill up with tears. His arms actually trembled a little with emotional intensity. He _needed_ a mother. He _needed_ someone to love him, something he'd considered an impossibility, but now that it was _right there_, hanging tantalizingly close…

"Please, Aunt Petunia. I'll make extra time in my day, to do all of my chores. Weren't you just saying to Uncle Vernon that you should get a maid to handle all the extra laundry? Please, I can do that. And cook all the meals, instead of just breakfast. And I already take care of the garden, but I swear I'll work harder at it. I can-"

"Absolutely not!" Petunia screeched. "Selfish little boy, if you had time to do all of that, you should have offered before. You're so ungrateful. I'm sure you thought that you had it hard, doing a few chores here and there, while really you spend all your time holed up in the cupboard that we let you stay in, lazing away. And now that it benefits you, I suppose you can do those things? Well, since you have the time, you will, but you can't have a pet." Harry lowered his head, and stared at his toes, feeling like the incredible sorrow and hope building up in his head might explode out.

"_Please_." The most peculiar thing happened. It was almost as if a slight breeze had started, even though all of the windows were closed. Harry's hair started to rise, and swirl about in the wind. Oblivious to the danger, Aunt Petunia sneered, and asked,

"And what kind of filthy creature were you hoping to bring into my house?"

"A snake." Harry said, and his voice was low and controlled, nothing like his usual squeak. For the first time, Aunt Petunia looked directly at him. She gasped.

Harry's hair was whipping about in a nonexistent wind. His eyes were narrowed, and the green of them seemed to glow. His hands were balled into fists at his side. As he clenched them a little tighter, the frame of his glasses spontaneously snapped. They fell to the floor. He seemed not to notice. In fact, as he took a step closer to Petunia, he stepped on them, smashing the left lens, and destroying most of the frame. She stood up and a little nervously, ordered,

"Stop that, boy. Stop it right now."

"Stop what?" Harry asked, still sounding too serious and his voice too deep for his age.

"That, that freakish thing you're doing with your hair, and your eyes." She glanced at his broken glasses. "Stop it!" Her voice cracked. Harry finally looked straight at her. Something about the light made his eyes seem almost red.

"Absolutely not." He replied, echoing her denial. He raised his finger and brandished it at her like it was a weapon. Something about the threat seemed serious, and Aunt Petunia took a step back against her will, until the back of her knees bumped against the chair she'd been sitting in. "If you think an animal is too filthy to keep in your home, it's a miracle you let your son live here. He alone is as revolting as any number of snakes, and the snakes would no doubt be cleaner. In fact, I would think you should love animals. You yourself remind me of a rat. Very clean animals, rats. Mind you, something could be said about their…dispositions. Ghastly, evil little things. I'm sure you'll have loads to talk about." Harry waved his hand at Aunt Petunia, and there was a pop! and a person sized puff of smoke.

Where Aunt Petunia had once stood, there was a large brown rat.

"Pity I have to keep to the wandless nonverbal type. Ministry, and all. I know a lovely spell that would bring you a nice cat to keep company with. People think cats are clean, you know, but they're really not. Peel back the carpet at any cat owner's house and you'll find a plethora of disgusting things they've tucked away. Snakes are much better."

The rat squeaked angrily and then squeaked again. It nibbled at its own paws and then turned to examine its tail.

"Shoo." Harry waved his hand at the rat, which nearly fell over its own feet running from him.

"Delightful. Its been a while since I've administered any justice quite that satisfying. Ah, the wards are failing. Blood wards, then? Well done, Dumbledore." He sat down, on the uncomfortable chair Aunt Petunia had been sitting in. A cushion appeared beneath him. His head cocked, as if he were listening to something.

"Oh, he's nobody." He smiled.

"Me? How do you know that I'm not you?" After another pause, he chuckled, a much more adult sound than his usual laugh.

"Clever boy." Suddenly, Harry seemed to grow weaker, and slumped in sudden fatigue before he straightened up again.

"I am a friend, Harry." He assured himself. "I have to go now, but if you need me again, I'm always here. You would be able to talk to me always, if you got a seed of souls." The lethargy lasted almost a full minute before he said,

"You can get one if you ask a forest. Nicely. My name is Tom." Then Harry went limp, as if he were going unconscious, but almost immediately, he sat back up and asked,

"But who are you, Tom?" He waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. He seemed to shake himself of the incident and looked around. "Aunt Petunia? Aunt Petunia?" The rat poked its nose out from under the couch. Harry ran to get some bread from the kitchen and coaxed the rat out. He built a small pen around it from a train set that Dudley had discarded. Then he wrote a note. Leaving it in the pen with the rat, he stood up, brushed his knees, and walked back out to the garden.

"Harry, dear, is that you? I was worried, I saw some lights coming from the house." Kneeling down next to the snake, Harry grinned.

"Yeah. My Aunt said I couldn't keep you, but I can go with you." That is, his Aunt had said he couldn't keep her, but he could go with her anyways.

"Go with me where, dear? I'd love to have you, but the patch of grass in between two houses isn't the best place for a growing boy."

"Believe me, I've stayed worse places." Said Harry, thinking of the cupboard under the stairs. "Anyways, I was hoping we might find a forest?"

"A forest? I know an Adder who has an excellent sense of direction, but I'm fairly certain the closest one is still very far. Are you sure your Aunt said it was alright for you to stay with me? Did you mention that I was a snake?" Harry thought about it. Well, technically he had.

"Yeah."

"It's an honor, Harry. Actually, I've been wanting to find a forest for a while now, but there hasn't been a good opportunity. You see, muggles use these dreadful things called cars. Have you seen one? Beastly contraptions, and they'll squash a snake faster than I care to think about."

"Yeah, I've seen one. Never thought about what they'd do to snakes though. I know how to cross streets, though. Sometimes I go down to the store, when Dudley doesn't feel like walking."

"The older one, right? Your cousin? What does he need from the store?"

"Usually sweets. He got a lolly once that was this big!" Harry demonstrated with his hands. Anthe laughed.

"The Adder is around that bend. Surly fellow, but he was possessed by a wizard once, and now he's absolutely brilliant. I'm positive he knows London down to the individual blades of grass. You really should avoid eating too much sugar, though. That's a habit we'll have to break you of."

"Oh, I didn't eat any. I just brought it back from the store for him. I didn't have any pocket money, you see."

"Spent it all on some other toy?"

"Actually, I don't get pocket money. Only Dudley does, but I'm already such a burden…" Harry looked at his toes.

"I'm sure you're nothing of the sort! Really, if they adopted you, they should have been willing to treat you the same as their own son."

"Oh no, ma'am! They took me in because I had nowhere else to go. Really, they were very generous allowing me to eat and stay there."

"It's good that you can be gracious, Harry, but I believe I'd like to hear more about your life with these muggles. I'm not sure that I care for them very much. Ah, right under that tree, there's a hollow." Harry walked over and crouched down.

"Mr. Adder? Um, sir?" An ancient looking snake poked its head out of the hole in the tree.

"Harry Potter, Number Four Privet Drive, thirty six lengths that way." His tail poked out as well to indicate direction."

"How did you know, Mr. Adder?"

"Adder," Replied the Adder, "is my species. I have taken the time to learn your name, and it would do you well to learn mine, as well. Otherwise, I will address you as Mr. Human, or Mr. Boy, and treat you as though you are interchangeable with anyone else who fits the description. My name is sssthSSssSSSSth ss STH."

"Mr. ssssssssthSS?" The Adder glared. "SssthsssssssthSH? Oh no, Mister, please don't go away. I'm afraid I don't speak snake very well, but I promise I'll try. Why don't you tell me what it means?"

"He who is victorious above all."

"Erm, Victor, then?"

"Acceptable. Only because your human tongue is likely too thick to pronounce my name properly."

"It's a lovely name." Commented Harry, in a rare display of tact.

"Thank you. It was my mother's name, as well."

"Right. Well, Victor, I have heard it said that you know England so well, you know all the blades of grass." Anthe sighed, making Harry worry that he'd gotten it wrong.

"That is correct. Did you need directions somewhere?"

"Yeah, d'you know where I can find a forest?"

"Magical, or non-magical?"

"There're magic forests?"

"Not anywhere near Surrey. There is a place, though, that might contain enough magic to allow you safe passage. Yes, I think a magical forest is a good idea for you, if you want to live very long there. Do you know where Bourne Wood is?"

"Erm, no?"

"Do you know where Farnham is?"

"No."

"Well, it's South of there, but I suppose I'll have to give you directions proper." Getting directions from Victor was difficult because, while the snake did indeed have a _very_ accurate sense of direction, he tended to measure distances in terms of his own length. Even that would have been less of a problem, if he would only agree to emerge and lie straight so that Harry could judge exactly how long he was. The fourth time he repeated his instructions to Harry, and Harry messed them up, he snapped, "Honestly, Potter, you have a mind like a sieve. I will come with you, only if you promise to dig me an equally nice home when we get there. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to learn a new area."

Honestly, his decision had much more to do with a certain lovely snake wrapped around Harry's neck like a necklace, but there was a decent amount of goodwill in his actions.

"Thank you, sir, thank you very much." Anthe unwrapped her head from around Harry's neck to thank Victor as well, and then said to Harry,

"Now don't think you've gotten out of anything. I demand to hear more about these relatives of yours."

* * *

The Dursley's house was a respectable place, above all else. It had one ornament in the front yard (a stone shaped like a frog) and a garden in the backyard (more out of respect to the eco-friendly neighbors, than to the actual ecosystem) and a perfectly trimmed green lawn, at all times. The doorknob was kept polished (by Harry), and the windows were kept clean (by Harry) and the squirrels were kept terrorized (by Dudley, and his pellet gun). It wasn't the sort of place that anything strange went on, at least that the neighbors could tell.

So when Vernon Dursley arrived home, he expected to be kissed by his respectable wife (just a peck, nothing indecent), greeted by his son (just a shout of acknowledgement; after all, Boys Will Be Boys), and not faced by any evidence of the Freak unless absolutely necessary. Dinner would be served at six thirty, and he would have a glass of Bourbon and Coke as he read the news, to relax before he went to bed.

The first thing he noticed when he walked in was that Dudley's old train set was lying in the middle of the living room floor.

"Dudley!" He called, but ah, that's right, Dudley was out with his friend, Pier Polkiss, and he supposed he hadn't returned yet. He walked over to inspect the mess, only to find a filthy little rat in a makeshift pen, chewing on some bread.

"AURGH!" He shouted, and fell back, crushing one of the tasteful little end tables that Petunia had gotten as a matching set. Quickly, he grabbed one of the legs of the table he'd crushed and took a great whack at the rat, only managing to catch its tail. It squeaked in pain and fear.

"Filthy thing, invading our house!" The rat took advantage of the broken pen to race towards the front door. How the rat and the train set got into the middle of the living room floor would always be a mystery to Vernon Dudley, and the note "I left" was the only explanation he got for his wife and nephew's disappearance. He didn't seem particularly upset about the loss of his nephew, but the absence of his wife hit Dudley hard. After all, he'd spent all his life hearing that people who lost their parents were Freaks.

Later, when those horrid men visited, not respectable at all with their funny little hats, and their clothing- especially the old one with the offensively patterned floral robes- he told them exactly the truth, which was that he didn't know why his wife had left so abruptly, but he was certain the neighbors wouldn't notice if he got a new one quickly enough, and no, he didn't know where she'd taken that worthless boy, but good riddance. And the one with greasy black hair, who seemed to understand his place enough to try to blend into the dark by wearing all black stepped forward and demanded more information, and he shoved the note at him. When the man had waved a stick over it and it had shone green, he'd shouted something about freaks, and magic, until the man had pointed the stick straight at him.

The funny thing was, only Dudley seemed to remember that encounter.

And of course Harry was long gone.

_**A/N: In terms of chapter length, expect anywhere from 2k to 6k. Update schedule, there is none. Whenever the stars aline such that I have internet, and I feel like writing. Sorry, I'm not very good at commitment. The more reviews, the more length and updates. Think about that before you think your reviews don't matter. **_

_**I was so tired while I wrote this, it isn't even funny. If you catch any blatant disregard for spelling, grammar, or sentence structure, comment, and I'll fix it.**_

_**Anyways, I read a lot of Drarry, but I started a Harry/Lucius last night, by accident, and I don't think I'll ever get over the horror of Harry calling Draco "Son". Yech. **_

_**Harry: Why...why would I do that?**_

_**Me: I don't know. I'm so sorry.**_

_**I really meant it when I said I was tired. Sorry for rambling. **_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: It's my birthday. Happy birthday to me! Leave me a review for my gift, yeah? Oh, and also forgive me for the ungodly time between updates. I'll be better from now on, I promise.**_

_The world is always ending, for someone._

_Neil Gaiman_

"What could you possibly be staring at?"

"Look at that man. He's playing with _fire_!"

"And you've deemed that deserving of your slack-jawed amazement?" The outdoor mall was such a hubbub of culture and life that one would never believe Surrey housed such places as Number Four, Privet Drive. In front of him was a bare-chested man with tribal patterns painted all over his chest and arms. He swung two torches around and around, allowing the flames to lick over his arms, and blowing great bursts of flames towards the crowd.

"Yeah…" answered Harry, still oblivious to the irritation of the snake coiled around his wrist and over his lap.

"Darling, I could do things that would make that man flee from mortification at his own ineptitude. While sleeping. And wandless. Observe." Suddenly, Anthe was on fire, and Harry let out a little shriek of panic, but just as quickly, he noticed that neither she, nor he, were burning. Power shined from her eyes, and she swayed with the flames. "This is what it means to be magical, Harry. Even when I am trapped in a body that is not my own, even when I have no wand and no body, there is always a spark within me that I can call forward, and the strength of that spark comes from my blood, and my soul." The fire vanished, and Anthe sleepily started winding herself up Harry's arm. "Of course, wandless magic will take the vigor right out of you. It's really not proper to be indulging in such displays, particularly for a lady. Only when it's gotten too cold, and you can't find a nice hole in time."

"Yes, ma'am." Harry nodded. The sound of clapping interrupted their conversation. A man wearing a business suit stood in front of him, applauding.

"Do you have a box, or a cap, boy?" A box of what? Harry took the cap from his head and proffered it, hoping it'd be returned at some point.

"Yes, sir." The man turned his wrist, flipping the cap so the part his head went into was facing up, and put a five pound note into it.

"Nice trick with the snake and the flames. I thought you'd lost your pet for sure."

"No, sir, she did everything on her own."

"That was clever, too. The way you pretended to talk to her. It looked like you really understood each other."

"Sir, I-"

"Here, do it again for my son, and I'll give you another fiver. Jonathon, come here!" Harry looked pleadingly at Anthe, who sighed and unwound herself.

"You can do this yourself, you know. I'll let my magic touch yours, and you can try it yourself." Anthe lit herself on fire again, much to the delight of Jonathon. The fire suddenly flared up and plunged into Harry's stomach, and he felt it light something inside of him. It was dancing, calling, filling him with so much heat and energy he felt he had to do _something_ to let it out, like throw his head back and scream like a madman, or-

Oh.

And Harry was on fire, and the burning over his skin felt like life, and existence, and being, and it set him alight in ways he hadn't even thought he'd been lacking.

Anthe withdrew, and it was gone, but Harry felt as though he could call back the feeling if he needed to.

He came back to himself. His cap was filled with money, and all the attention in the square was on him. The man in the suit no longer looked impressed. He looked wary, and Jonathon was pushed behind him, where he was peeking fearfully from between his father's legs.

"Son, maybe you shouldn't be playing with such dangerous tricks. Where are your parents?" Harry floundered around for an answer. He knew enough of adults to understand that they didn't approve of children on their own.

"Er, my mum, that is, my father is, erm-"

"I'm his father. I know the trick can be alarming the first time round, but I assure you, it's only a trick. I would never let my son do anything dangerous." A muscular, sweaty arm slung itself over Harry's shoulders, and he stiffened in surprise, smelling a sharp mix of sweat and burning wood.

"Is this true? This man is your father?" Harry glanced up at the performer, still unsure why the man was saving him and replied quickly,

"Yes, he is." Eventually, the crowd dispersed, and it was only Harry and the man.

"Hey kid, I'm Flamello the Flame Master!" He basked in Harry's admiration, and didn't recognize Anthe's snort for what it was. "Yeh can call me Mason, though. Listen, why don't I buy yeh some chips. Ya've been 'ere all morning." Harry was immediately spellbound by the idea of food just for him, still warm and soft and not a leftover.

"Harry, I don't think you should-"

"Alright."

"Great. Whatsyer name?"

"Harry." Harry was led to a stand where he was served thick, fried chips, and it was everything he'd imagined it would be, although it was a good deal greasier than he had expected.

"So, Harry. Way I see it, yeh can't go around without any parents. Where're yeh headed?"

"Bourne Wood."

"Really? Fantastic! I'm 'eaded towards Farnham. Yeh c'n stay with me, and I'll help yeh keep your nose clean, and feed yeh."

"Really?"

"Yeah, o'course. All I'll need is some…rent." The cap full of money disappeared into the pocket of Mason's grubby coat, and he rubbed his hands together. "Glad we had this talk, Harry. That's some show yeh got there. Maybe yeh can show me some of your tricks?"

"I don't like this man, Harry. He seems like the disreputable sort." Came the voice from under his shirt.

"He's right though, Miss Anthe. I need an adult or else I'll get stopped and taken back to the Dursleys."

"I don't like it."

"What else can I do?" Mason clicked his fingers in front of Harry's face.

"Hello? Yeh were explaining to me yer tricks?"

"Sorry, I had to ask my…snake for permission."

"Blimey, you're _that_ sort, are you?" Raising his eyebrows, and arranging his face into a patronizing expression, Mason looked towards the snake and exaggeratedly enunciated. "Hello, Snake. I am Flamello the Flame Master."

"Master of public indecency, more like. Why isn't that man wearing a shirt?"

"Her name is Polyanthe Zur- Zurcee… Her name is Polyanthe Stone."

"Nice to meet you, Polly."

"Merlin. If I bite this man, Harry, please understand that it isn't meant as an example of appropriate behavior for you; it would be my own attempt at cleansing the muggle gene pool. This man is, in no uncertain terms, a moron. Also, he's stealing your money."

"I don't need it for anything, Anthe. Far as I'm concerned, he can have it." Mason was watching the waiter. The intensity of his stare suggested that the man held the secrets to locating the holy grail.

"A prudent businessman always keeps his resources in a position where he can use them."

"What does prudent mean?" Mason cut in, again.

"Hey, Har, are you gonna be 'talking to your snake' often?" The waiter briefly disappeared in the back, and Mason grabbed Harry by the wrist and dragged him from the restaurant. "Lesson one, kid, a smart businessman always conserves his resources when 'e can."

"Did we just steal from that restaurant?"

"Nah." Mason looked around and changed the subject back. "Yeh shouldn't talk to yer snake where people can see yeh. 'Cept for shows."

"Alright. Why?"

"'Cause it's weird, kid." Oh yeah. Right. Freakish.

"Yessir."

"And don't be so p'lite. It's weirding me out. Go on, say a bad word." Anthe poked her head back out.

"You will do no such thing!"

"I'm not allowed to, Mr. Mason."

"Do it!" Harry looked up at him with big fearful eyes, and finally whispered,

"hell."

"Eh, we'll work on it. Hey, welcome teh home sweet home." Harry scanned the filthy, dilapidated house and hoped it wouldn't fall down and kill him.

"You live here?"

"For now. I'm squatting." No he wasn't, he was standing, but Harry didn't correct him.

"Alright."

"I like yeh, kid." He yawned. "I'm out. Yeh can sleep anywhere."

"Erm. Alright." Harry ended up dragging a marginally less filthy cot that all the others into a cupboard, because the homeless man upstairs scared him, and Mason would say no more about it than "Share, and share alike, yeah?"

There was a small hole in the cupboard ceiling which, at the right angle, lined up with a big patch of ceilingless room on the second floor. Through it, Harry could see the stars.

Victor chose that moment to wake up.

"Harrumph, are we in the forest? Gloomy place, if you ask me."

"No, sir. We're in a house."

"Ssstill gloomy."

"I think it's wonderful." said Harry, and fell asleep. Victor turned to Anthe, who was watching them both carefully.

"Your boy has faced some hardships."

"Yes. He has. The muggles he was with taught him lessons I wouldn't place on any child."

"How other species treat their hatchlings is none of my business, however, if I am to travel with this boy for some time, I need to know: is the condition he's in normal?"

"Excuse me?"

"I am a creature of the natural world. Don't think I can't see the flamesss just because I'm getting old. Harrumph! The day I get too old to see what'ssss around me iss the day I starve and die. Other wizards have a spark, and sometimes the young have a small flame, but your boy is still filled completely on the inside with the fire he called earlier."

"Years of repression. He has been building up his magic in the way we often train it, out of necessity. Those horrid relatives of his inadvertently trained him to stand up to hardship. Magic comes stronger as it is needed, just as scales are thicker the season after skin is torn by burrowing claws. That boy has been torn, many times over, deliberately and cruelly. It's no wonder he's developed a thick skin, as it were."

"The humans who are ssso inclined value their magic highly, as if they were the only race to ever unlock their sparks. If this were true, wouldn't all children face an upbringing like him?" Anthe sighed.

"They probably would, but it is only natural for humans to value their humanity, and all other things second. I used to be a leading practitioner of magical theory, and I feared the same thing, which is why I never said a word about my findings. Boys need to be boys, or they will grow into damaged wizards."

"That'sss a lot of power for a damaged wizard."

"That is how it has always been. Where do you think dark lords come from?"

"It's none of my concern. We who glide across the earth lead separate existensssessss from the crawlers and stalkers. Our worlds do not touch. You know that."

"If you truly believe our worlds never touch, you are blind, sir. I have had the dubious honor of losing my burrow to an expanding garden, viewing forests and woods being killed tree by tree, and there is talk of possession of our kind with this dark lord that you say _doesn't concern you."_

"We will dig deeper holes and settle down for a long winter. We have avoided sssskirmishes before."

"This is no skirmish. It's a war."

"Hatchlings like to speak of wars and gods and ends of worlds. I am very old, and I have seen such talk come to nothing before. If you'll excusssse me, I'm digesting a frog."

Unsatisfied, Anthe curled closer around her boy, and her glittering eyes kept watch in the dark for a long, long time.

When Harry Potter woke up, it was warm.

That was the first thing he noticed. He felt so warm that it was as if the feeling was almost tangible, a golden glow. He stretched luxuriously to enjoy the feeling before he had to get up and make breakfast. He wondered if he was still asleep. Already the feeling of relaxation was fading with the slight tension as he anticipated the rapping at his door. Finally, he decided to just get up.

He opened his eyes, and the sunlight streamed in. So did a fair amount of dust, but he was used to waking up with a fine layer of dust covering him, so he blinked it out with the patience of someone who had done it many times before. But the sun. The sun was beautiful. Lovely, streaming in golden and soft. Dust specks caught the light, and floated down like magic. The warmth of a friend tightened around his arm, and the warmth of a mother stirred as he did.

"Good morning, Harry."

"Good morning, Anthe. I'm going to go get breakfast. Would you like to come with me, or sleep a bit more?"

"I don't trust that man. I'll come."

"Alright." Harry carefully arranged Victor in the spot of sunlight that streamed in, and closed the cupboard door quietly behind him. Eugh. Harry was used to sleeping in dust, but living in it was a different matter. He was privately glad he wouldn't be staying long, although he knew he should be grateful for having a place to stay at all.

"I hope you don't intend to eat anything from this dilapidated rathole."

"Erm, of course not." Replied Harry, who had been planning to do just that. "I was just gonna find Mr. Mason."

"Good. Maybe he'll behave like an adult, for once, and feed you."

"Mr. Mason? Mr. Mason?" Harry wandered around the house for a while, until he almost tripped over Mason, who was splayed out on the floor, snoring. Harry nudged him with his toe. "Excuse me, Mr. Mason?"

Mason shot up straight and looked around wildly.

"Is it coppers?"

"Erm, no sir, I'm just hungry."

"Go gerrus some food."

"Sorry, but I ah, don't have any money." Mason made a noise that sounded something like,

"Mmmf." He shuffled and wriggled around in his coat until he pulled out a couple of crumpled bills from the day before and handed them to Harry.

"I should just go on my own?" Mason huffed.

"Don't talk to strangers."

"Sir?" Mason snored. "Um, alright, Anthe, let's go."

"EH! ISH DA SHNAKE FOR EATSH?"

"No! Don't eat my snake!" Harry ran to save Victor from the nameless stranger staying in the house. The man was swatting at Victor with a cast-iron pan. Victor was replying with a healthy stream of profanity as he rose up in the air, and his head dodged the blows.

"Harrumph." Harry jumped in and snatched Victor, narrowly avoiding the swinging pan.

"Harry, I forbid you from doing that ever again!" Harry stroked Anthe's head apologetically, as he ran.

"Sorry, Miss Anthe, I'll set you down first, next time."

"No, you idiot boy. Have you no sense of self-preservation?"

"What d'you mean?"

"My dear boy, what she means is that throwing yourself into danger for me was a stupid decision."

"Why? You were-"

"Exactly. _I _was in danger. You didn't need to put yourself in that situation. Your first goal should always be to save yourself."

"You didn't want me to save you?"

"Of course I did. My first goal is to save myself. Just as that human wanted a meal to fill his belly. The way of nature is that each of us are first for ourselves."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Harry. You have a very kind heart, but it's not a boy's job to do these things."

"Yes, Miss Anthe."

"Good boy. Hop to it; a boy your age should be wandering the streets for as little time as possible."

"Yes, Miss Anthe. Sorry, Miss Anthe." She sniffed.

"Don't apologize so often, either."

"Sorr-er, alright. I won't." Harry had a lovely breakfast in the park, with some soft, warm pancakes that he'd gotten from a booth, all rolled up. Anthe was scandalized when he licked the melted butter and jam from his fingers, which set him to laughing until he nearly dislodged Victor. He picked some flowers while Victor slithered away, and stared, wide-eyed when Victor returned, with a big lump in his body.

"Did you really eat a frog?"

"A mouse, this time."

"Oh."

"Close your mouth, Harry, it's unbecoming."

"Sorry Anthe. Oops. Sorry Anthe. Oops!" Anthe rolled her eyes comically, and Harry laughed, seeing the look on a snake. "This is the happiest I've ever-"

"Potter!" Harry jumped and looked around.

"Aunt Marge!" The woman looked like nothing so much as a female Mr. Dursley. With a mustache to match. Anthe straightened herself up to be introduced, but Harry appeared to be shaking.

"What's wrong?" The woman grabbed hold of Harry by his ear.

"Worthless boy, haven't they taught you not to display your freakishness where decent people can see it? Obviously you need a firm thrashing, and that little lesson I taught you has faded." Anthe's motherly instincts came to the fore, and she raised her head out of Harry's shirt and hissed.

To her amusement, Aunt Marge leaped back, arms flailing wildly, until she tripped over a bulldog behind her, and fell on her backside. Once she was down, her limbs thrashed around in the air.

"How exactly like a beetle." Anthe said. Harry frowned.

"I'm sure beetles are nicer."

"Ripper. Sic'em!" Harry turned to run, but the dog had already knocked him to the ground. He snatched Anthe from Harry's shoulder, but before he could bite down, Harry stuffed both hands in the dog's mouth, trying to pry his jaw apart.

The jaws continued to close, around Anthe, and around Harry's fingers. The teeth made a bloody mess of the skin, and continued to press slowly down into the flesh of Harry's hand. Tears started streaming down his face from the pain.

"Harry, let go!"

"I can't Miss Anthe! You're going to be my m-mother!" Suddenly, Harry straightened up, and looked around, as though absorbing the situation. "Idiot boy!" He said, and his voice carried much more power. He smiled, a little twitch of his lips that happened exactly at the same time as Ripper exploded, showering bits of flesh and bone over Harry and Aunt Marge.

Aunt Marge screamed.

"Ripper! My darling Ripper! You need to be _disciplined, _boy!" Aunt Marge turned on Harry, snarling, and he put his hands up protectively. Suddenly, she whirled, and stomped on Anthe. There was a sickening crunch, and her body was suddenly bent at two unnatural angles. Inside his head, Harry screamed, _Anthe!_

Something was wrong with Marge. She seemed to be swelling. Harry was on the ground, scooping up Anthe, who lay broken and bleeding on the ground. Still, Marge swelled and swelled. The weight wasn't heavy; if anything, she looked like a balloon being blown up. In fact…

Marge started to float. As she passed by the top branch of a tree, she snatched at it, tearing off a great deal of leaves. The branch snapped back, and she floated higher and higher until she was a speck in the distance.

Harry gathered up Anthe. She whimpered softly.

"Harry?"

"He's not here. Wait a moment please, ma'am. Harry?" He nodded to some invisible voice, and snapped his fingers.

With a loud pop, he vanished.

A dot in the sky quivered for a moment, and then dropped from the sky, like a falling star. Except it actually landed. Hard.

When Harry reappeared, he was in a forest.

"Tom?" Tom was gone, exhausted of energy from the magic. Anthe keened in pain. "Anthe!"

"Harry…" Harry broke into new sobs, and cradled her as carefully as he could, even though his fingers were still bleeding and bruised. "Harry, my dear, you…you did the best you could. It's not your fault."

"If I hadn't-"

"Harry!" She coughed weakly. "If you blame yourself than I will never forgive you, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No…you're not…allowed to be sorry, remember?" She coughed again. Her body shuddered with the force of it. "Don't forget, Harry. You're a very…special boy. I think its impossible…not to love you." Anthe died, and Harry sat in shock, with the first declaration of love of his life.

He curled up next to Anthe's body and cried until he fell asleep.

_**A/N: I have like, an hour and a half of birthday left. **_

_**Harry: That was really mean, what you did there.**_

_**Me: It'll get better. You'll see. YOU'LL ALL SEE! BWAHAHAHA!**_

_**Harry: B-but…my…my only friend died. And where's Victor? And it's impolite to leave Mason without saying anything. Anthe said you should always say hello and goodbye.**_

_**Me: Er, yeah. Sorry about that, man. Like I said. Gets better. Next chapter. Hang in there.**_

_**Harry: Maybe a review would make me feel better. **_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: You know what's weird? The review that finally got me to edit and post this now-ancient chapter was Azera-V's "Please continue." I'm a sucker for epic-length reviews and anything that sounds genuine. **_

_Seek not in the wide world to find a home; but where you chance to rest, call that your home. _

_Murasaki Shikibu_

Harry woke up feeling oddly detached from the day before. In fact, he felt so detached that it felt as though he was floating in a pool. He'd fallen into one once, and before the fear of drowning broke through the surprise of submersion, there had been a moment of stunned weightlessness. He felt it again now.

The gentle waves rocked him and he'd almost slipped back into unconsciousness when he heard a polite cough from nearby.

"Victor?"

"I'm afraid it's only me." replied Tom's voice, and Harry opened his eyes. It was a testament to Tom's charisma that it took a good couple of minutes for Harry to even examine his unusual surroundings. After all, odd as it was, there was literally nothing to see- no objects, no ground, no sky- and Tom was…well, Tom.

Tom was good-looking in a clean, well-bred way. His bone structure was delicate, but it managed to be just this side of masculine. His hair was swept carefully into the neat style customary of men who had gone to schools with names like Eton and still met up with old classmates to talk politics and smoke in old-fashioned pipes. All in all, a good-looking man, but not striking. Until he moved. When he tilted his head to acknowledge Harry's waking, the soft light highlighted his unnaturally smooth white skin. His eyes gleamed red and then flashed green so quickly that Harry checked again to see what his eye color really was. It was brown. Just brown.

"How nice of you to join me here." Tom opened his arms gracefully to emphasize the 'here', which seemed to be an endless limbo of white.

"Where are we?" asked Harry, sitting up and rubbing vigorously at his eyes.

"We are in your mind. I might be tempted to comment on its emptiness, but that one lost its humor years ago." Rubbing his eyes hadn't made the bizarre setting go away. Harry frowned.

"Why are we here?" Tom shrugged, somehow making the movement appear aristocratic.

"I'm not entirely sure. I've been here for years, ever since I cast a very powerful bit of magic on you when you were an infant. The real mystery is; why are _you_ here?"

"Well, it's _my_ head." Harry replied defensively, feeling discomfited by the thought that he might be considered an intruder on his own mind.

"That it is." Tom said warmly, and reached out a hand to help Harry up. When Harry took it, Tom's eyes glittered gold, and Harry retrieved his hand as quickly as was polite. Tom noticed anyways, but only seemed amused. "Shall we?" asked Tom.

"Shall we what?"

"Walk."

"Walk to what? There's nothing here." Harry noticed the disproportionate irritation in Tom's eyes. It made him wary. Although he felt badly being wary of his savior, he recognized the look as a Vernon look, albeit a more well-concealed version. Underneath his polite exterior, he was very angry, possibly at Harry. "I'm sorry you got trapped in my head."

Tom waved the comment away dismissively.

"No matter. I highly doubt that you, all of one year old, intended any of the consequences of that night. I should imagine it won't matter if we have a goal in mind while walking. Space doesn't work that way in here." Trying not to antagonize Tom, Harry chose a direction to walk in.

After a while, he pointed excitedly.

"Look! We're getting shadows. We must be getting close to the light!" Tom seemed uplifted by the news as well, although he didn't wave at his own shadow like Harry did.

Unfortunately, though it got brighter and brighter until their shadows were nearly black, they didn't come across anything. Tom frowned.

"Perhaps if you expected to find something specific."

"Like what?"

"A location would be most convenient. One you know well." It only took about five more minutes before they came across Harry's cupboard, looking strangely disembodied without the rest of the house. Harry reached for the doorknob, but Tom caught his wrist in Petunia's familiar I-Don't-Want-To-Touch-You grip, forefinger and thumb. Again, Harry got the eerie feeling that Tom didn't like him, hated him even, but the man had been nothing but nice so far. "I refuse to meet with whatever power has summoned you here in a cupboard."

Harry concentrated and the rest of the Dursley's house sprang into being around them. Where they had been standing, by the cupboard, was now the living room. Harry perched awkwardly on the couch while Tom lounged imperialistically in Petunia's armchair and twirled his fingers as though there was a pen in them. He seemed to be waiting for something to appear.

"Now what?" Asked Harry. Tom looked at him disinterestedly.

"We wait." Harry sat up straight and proper in his chair for about ten minutes before he was fidgeting again. Tom looked comfortable in repose, but then, he'd had 8 years of practice with this bloody waiting.

"Do you think there's food in the kitchen?" Tom's eyebrows jumped as though this was something he hadn't considered, and he followed Harry to the pristine kitchen. "After we eat, I'm not going to clean up." Declared Harry fervently, and he opened the fridge door to reveal more food than had ever been in the real Dursley's home, except perhaps during a party.

Harry loaded a plate with peas and corn, soft mashed potatoes with steaming gravy, roasted chicken and cold turkey, sweet grapes and buttery biscuits, soft and warm. Everything was well-cooked and served at the perfect temperature despite everything having come from the cool box. Harry, face buried in food, didn't seem to notice.

Tom ate hesitantly at first. He took a biscuit, a slice of chicken breast and a small portion of potatoes, which, after a pause, he melted cheese over. Food like this rarely came to Harry Potter and never came to him on a plate that hadn't been eaten off of by someone else first, but even he was astonished by the concentrated bliss with which Tom steadily ate through his food. They finished a large pudding between them and the better part of a beautiful cherry pie.

"Did you know," Tom said, staring at his empty plate, "I haven't eaten since I've been here? I haven't needed to, but it's nice." He seemed faintly lost as he stared down at his plate, and after a hesitant pause, he added, "I couldn't taste food for some time before then, either. A spell I cast on myself for safety reasons had unexpected side effects and I lost a bit of taste and tactility." The wistfulness faded quickly as he straightened up and pulled the vegetables towards himself. "The fact that I can taste the food is significant. The taste of the food is obviously an illusion, which means that I can only sense things based on your limited perception." Harry graced Tom with a view of his half chewed food when he responded.

"Msh Figg saysh I'ff a good nohsh." The glare he received suited its purpose in making him gulp (either in fear or to clear his mouth of food, it was unclear) and he tried again. "Mrs. Figg says I've a good nose."

"I used to be able to smell one particle of poison in a million, and it only took three particles to detect the type, if it was known to me."

"How'd you tesht that?" asked Harry, honestly curious.

"I just knew." Snapped Tom. After a sip of orange juice, his face softened. "I never slept here, either. Eight bloody years. I would give a good deal to be free of this blasted place."

_He speaks truth._

Both of them whipped their heads around at the voice, but the room remained empty.

"Hello?" called Harry. Tom wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back. The voice returned again, slightly moaning, oddly multitoned, like many voices speaking in such perfect harmony that their voices were indistinguishable from each other.

_You seek the Seed._

"I do." Tom said calmly.

_State your appeal, - _An incomprehensible sound followed, which sounded like a rush of voices.

"As I understand it, the Seed of Souls requires magical strength. I am irrefutably one of the most powerful wizards in the world. I have-"

_Your appeal is denied. You are not a wizard._

"What?" For the first time, Tom looked truly shaken. "Listen and listen well, forest, for I will find another means and return to raze you to the ground for your insolence!"

_State your appeal, - _another noise, although this time Harry could make out the words "mother's eyes" "scar" and "likes jam" from some of the voices. He assumed from the latter two that the noise was meant to identify him, and answered.

"I don't really have one, sir. Uhhh, ma'am."

_State your appeal._

"I don't- who are you?"

_I speak the truth._ Tom bared his teeth at the table.

"Idiot boy, if a Forest chooses to answer your questions, don't waste time on idiotic queries. Ask it where the seed of souls is."

"But I don't-" Tom grabbed Harry's arm, hard.

"Do it!" Harry flinched back.

"You're hurting me!" Tom let go, but he didn't look apologetic; only determined to stay in control. His voice, when it came, was sharp.

"Ask."

"Where- where is the seed of souls?"

_It is your own destruction you seek. _In contrast to his earlier fury, Tom's face was now carefully blank.

"What do you mean?"

_Sapling oak, it is the seed of choking vine, which would seek to steal the nutrients from your roots, and the sun from your leaves. _

"It will kill me? Tom, you didn't know that, did you? What is the seed of souls, really?"

_I speak the truth._

"Forests aren't known for speaking literally, Harry. What the seed of souls does is allow me to grow independently from you until I am strong enough to leave. The power that you will lose is only that which is rightfully mine. Losing it might make you slightly weaker while you adjust, but I know who you are, Harry, and I know you wouldn't willingly trap me to steal my power."

_It is in the nature of the rot to chew into the root. _

Logic and the same creeping suspicion from before were warring with Harry's instinctive desire to help, especially Tom who had helped him already.

_Orphan child, ask what it is you truly desire._ Harry's throat closed and he felt like he might choke in the sudden rush of the emotions he had left behind for this strange dream.

"Can you- can you bring Anthe back?"

_Orphan child, ask what it is you truly desire._ Harry couldn't think of anything else he wanted more. Anthe was going to be his mother. She was going to teach him and take care of him and love him, and for that he would do almost anything.

_Request granted._ The food on the table vanished, followed by the table, and the cabinets around them. They stood in a box, with a hole in the floor where the sink used to be. The walls, too, began to fade, leaving not the white emptiness of before, but instead, a thick and choking forest.

_It is in a mother's nature to council._

Suddenly, something changed about Harry's sight. The heavy foliage still bore down on the relatively small boy, but he suddenly saw every hole he could dive into, could hear the sawing of birds in the distance, could recognize that while only one of the types of mushrooms he saw was edible, there were three that made decent topical remedies for various skin afflictions. In an instant, the space around him became one he was intimately familiar with.

_It is in a mother's nature to nurture. _

There was a branch just out of the reach of Harry's arms, and like he had just _known _everything alse about the forest, he _knew_ to reach for the branch as if there was fruit there. As he reached out, he instinctively tugged with something he had never known existed in his mind, and an apple blossomed into being and dropped off of the branch and into his hand. Never mind that it was a walnut tree. Tugging at the new feeling again, moss grew up from the ground over his trainers and up to his scraped knees, leaving them healed before receding.

_It is in a mother's nature to protect._

Danger, there was an overwhelming feeling of danger and deceit and horror beyond understanding. Cringing instinctively, Harry realized the feeling was pouring off of Tom, who stood frozen by his side, eyes glinting greedily at the miracles that Harry was seemingly performing. In a flash of insight, Harry looked at Tom and saw him for what he was, truly. He saw a shattered piece from a broken individual. He looked through the fragments and saw the potential glowing soft and beautiful despite its ruin. He felt more than saw a lonely anger which tugged at his sympathy, and in the same instant, he felt the Mother's intent.

"No!" Harry shouted. The forest paused around him.

_It is in a mother's nature to protect. _

The voice had changed into something clearly feminine. It was still a composition of voices, but Harry almost fancied he could hear the sharpness of the way Anthe pronounced her "H"s.

"Please don't kill him. I want to help him. Please."

_The Shard would kill you, given the chance. _It saddened Harry to realize this was true.

"I know. Please leave him anyways. I can't- I can't-" Harry's ten year old heart broke under the strain of the day and he ducked the soft branches that reached out to envelop him in comforting embraces. All the grass stood on edge as it leaned towards him. "I can't let anyone else die today."

_It is in a mother's nature to protect. _The voice insisted, but it had the air of acquiescence. Just as he felt the knowledge come to him, he felt warm magic envelop his mind in a loving, but firm grip. He felt binding after binding tighten within himself. Tom started to fade, and Harry felt light-headed. He looked at his hands, but found that if anything, he was becoming more solid. The color of his skin burned healthy and fierce against the scenery. He felt realer than he ever had before.

Tom, too, was watching his hands, as they continued to fade. In a moment of sudden realization, he leapt towards Harry, hands outstretched to choke him, but a root tripped him and as he fell, his hands passed through Harry's chest.

Harry jumped back, startled.

Tom vanished completely, and the forest around Harry faded and was replaced by huge dancing flames. Harry knew he should be afraid, but the blaze seemed inviting, and warm rather than burning. He felt that he could step into the fire and dance with the flames and come out unharmed.

_The fires of destiny burn bright in you, son of the First Mother. You will never be alone._

The fires danced higher and higher, until they engulfed Harry. They burned with energy, instead of heat, and he felt alive, more alive than he ever had before. In that moment, Harry felt as if he could do anything. He raised his hands as the blaze flared bright until his vision was lost in light and fire.

Harry woke up for the second time, but to the reality he was familiar with. The forest sat relatively still and quiet around him, and the magic was more settled, but it was there. Now that Harry knew what to look for, he found that the strange knowledge from before still came to him if he concentrated, and the magic of the forest settled like a hum around him.

"Harry. . . " Harry shifted and something poked uncomfortably into his back. "Harry, wake up. . ." The same something wrapped warm and smooth around his hand . . .

. . .and proceeded to crush it, grinding all the bones painfully against each other.

"Ouch!" shouted Harry, and shot up. Victor unwrapped himself.

"I had hoped to court Anthe, but she's dead, so I'll take you the last leg as promised and then you will be on your own."

Harry took a moment to process the words, sitting up and wincing at the amount of pine needles, earth, and forest debris that stuck to his skin. His finger brushed against something smooth and scaly and it was only after his gaze followed his arm down to the slightly coiled body of Anthe that the events of the day before all crashed upon him at once. His eyes began to well up with tears, and he might have fallen back into the misery of the night before if Victor had not said,

"I won't stay here any further. If you want to join me, come now." The sentiment was punctuated by a brief surge of irritation coming from the back of Harry's mind that wasn't his own.

"Tom?" He whispered to himself. More irritation, and the dim thought,

'…_obviously…'_

"How can you two be so cold?"

"It is the way of snakes." A surge of irritation so strong from inside of Harry's mind that it physically hurt.

"You aren't sad?" He addressed only Victor this time.

"It is regrettable. More regrettable if we stay out here and I am carried off by a hawk. Do you mind?"

Harry picked himself up and bent over so Victor could coil himself around his arm.

"Shouldn't we bury her?"

"Why?"

"It feels wrong to just leave her there."

"It would be 'wrong' to treat her as though she is human. She isn't, anymore."

"She was, though!" Tom's voice came through quiet and forced.

'_A forced animagus bind doesn't work after death. The corpse will revert to the form with which the victim identifies.'_

"What does that mean?"

'_Regardless of what she was born as, she is a snake now. Don't insult her.'_

It felt wrong to walk away from the little corpse, but Harry covered the visible wounds with a little bundle of flowers he gathered and shot a look at Victor, daring either of his companions to say anything.

"Where are we going?" Victor made some sort of snorting noise.

"I assumed you wanted to find the center of the forest. Didn't you need something from there?"

"I…" Harry frowned. "I don't know. I think I already…" Harry reached towards a convenient branch and tried the tugging from before. The feeling was only a faint niggle in the back of his mind. Pouring in all of his concentration, Harry reached towards the branch and _Pulled._ By the time the apple was plum sized, sweat was dripping into Harry's eyes, but he kept trying.

Finally, Harry stood triumphantly, holding an apple in his shaking hand.

"I say, my dear boy, don't give yourself an aneurysm. The apple won't do you much good then." Harry's teeth slipped against the surface of the apple. Victor uncurled himself and began the journey down Harry's body.

"It's not hard to do once I hold onto the feeling. I just need to find the button for it, and that's hard."

"Is that all you'll need, then?" Victor asked from Harry's ankles.

"I think so. Are you going?" Victor slithered a few paces and called back,

"A word of advice. Practice."

Sitting down on a log, Harry finished his apple and looked at the core pensively.

"So that was real, then. With the apple. And Tom. Tom!"

_Yes?_ Came the irritated voice from the back of Harry's mind.

"Are you okay?"

_You're still alive, idiot, which means I am many things, none of which are 'okay'._

"You _did_ try to kill me." responded Harry, wondering why he was so calm about the whole thing.

_And I've served eight years imprisoned. _Harry sucked apple juice from his fingers.

"Well, if you're fine, what did she do?" Tom growled at him.

_She bound me to you._


End file.
